All That You Need
by Aseptic
Summary: Post S3, before S4. Ambushed and overwhelmed by an old enemy, Merlin thus finds himself stranded in the forest. When he returns to Camelot, terrible things have happened in his absence. Now Merlin must find Arthur, and restore the balance.
1. Chapter 1

**Before we begin:**

Hallo! So, it's been a long time since I've dealt with an active fandom (wherein the story/show is still being broadcast). Please bear with me as I work out certain things. I am also not one to keep to an update schedule, so I make no promises as to the frequency of posting new chapters. My life is a busy one.

The story is not designed to be especially romantic: if you ship a particular pair (or trio, or whatever), you'll probably find it here. Concerning when it is set, we begin a few months after the climax of S3. Although this is not an AU, later events are representative of early S4. You'll see what I mean.

I hope you enjoy!

**X X X**

**All That You Need**

**Ch. 1**

**X X X**

If not for the birdsong that surrounded him on all sides, Merlin could have easily believed that he was the only thing in the world. It was a misty morning, the kind that came with a change of seasons, and this early in the day he almost had the forest to himself. With a small pack slung over one shoulder Merlin followed a winding rabbit path through the trees, stopping every so often to collect herbs that Gaius needed. He worked diligently, snipping or tearing as needed, stowing everything in his bag. Some were so familiar that he could have listed off their properties in his sleep, but there were quite a few that he had not collected before. Gaius was searching intensively for something that would aid Uther's depression, or at least give him peace, but Merlin was not convinced that a broken heart could be cured by any tincture or potion. He knew that pain too well.

Somewhere behind him, a little to the right, there came the sharp _crack_ of a branch breaking underfoot. Startled by something so sudden in an otherwise peaceful place, Merlin froze mid-motion before looking carefully over his shoulder. If he was very, _very_ lucky, it would be no more than a deer.

It wasn't.

At the sight of a dark-robed figure standing no more than a stone's throw away, Merlin was scrambling to his feet in alarm. As he straightened, task of herb collecting abandoned, he took in what he could – it was a boy, an adolescent, pale under that hood, a little too thin for his own health, and ... Merlin felt the hair on the back of his neck tingle. _Magic_. A Druid?

"Hello?" he said, tentatively.

_Emrys. _The answer echoed unevenly in his head and Merlin couldn't help the small wince that passed through him – he would never get used to this way of speaking. It was then that he recognised the voice and he couldn't help the grimace.

"Mordred."

_Emrys. You must be removed._

Before Merlin could react the Druid boy lifted his hands and with a flash of gold eyes, Merlin was thrown with such force that the air was sucked from him. His world inverted sharply before he hit the ground hard, and blacked out.

**X X X**

Through the haze of semi-consciousness, Merlin could feel himself shivering. He tried moving, just a little, hoping to find either a blanket or something similar to draw back up over himself. Finding nothing he tucked his arms and legs in a little more, trying in vain to fight the cold off with his own bodyheat. But the longer Merlin stayed there, just barely awake enough to realise that he was not asleep, the more he knew that it was futile. He needed to get up, find warmth or a fire, and huddle around that in spite of Arthur's jeers.

Opening his eyes slowly, Merlin propped himself up on one elbow. Licking his lips to try and help ease an unpleasantly dry throat, the young man found himself in the middle of a clearing, and totally alone. He was soon sitting up much straighter, thoroughly confused.

Was this right?

By the poor light of the half-moon overhead Merlin could just see small puffs of steam rising in front of him as he breathed, and realising that his clothes were slightly damp as well as cold, he got to his feet with a groan. Pulling his jacket tight across his chest and tucking his arms in as well, Merlin shifted erratically from one foot to the other as he cast about for some sign of what had happened.

No bandits, no traders, no traps. Good. No soldiers, no horses, no sign of camp. Not good. Was he very far from Camelot? No, what was more important was how he had come to be here in the first –

_Mordred. Magic. What did he do to me?_

All at once Merlin's memories came rushing back, allowing him to figuratively retrace the steps that brought him to the middle of the forest in the middle of the night. He scowled. To face Mordred as an enemy was something that Merlin had worried about for a long time, though he had never given up hope that they could somehow … be allies? He wasn't sure, but for as long as Mordred had been just a child, Kilgharrah's warnings had never seemed as important as everything else that Merlin had to take care of.

Look where that got him.

Stiff and cold but aware there was no time to waste, Merlin turned the way he had come that morning, and hastily set out for Camelot. He needed to tell Gaius, and draw up a plan of defence. He'd figure out a way to deal with Arthur later.

**X X X**

The air was still uncommonly cold for this time of year, but aside from a runny nose Merlin had stopped feeling it as he marched back to Camelot. It wasn't long before dawn broke, for it had been much closer than Merlin anticipated and as he approached Camelot, the early sun was already filtering through the trees. The warmth fell across his shoulders but in the face of the problem presented by Mordred, it was of little comfort.

Somewhere along the way he'd realised that Gaius' herb bag was no longer slung over his shoulder – assuming the strap had broken when Mordred attacked, Merlin had already decided he would just have to retrieve it after he could be certain that Camelot was not under imminent threat.

When the forest gave away to the last clearing before the city began, Merlin stopped short.

There _was_ no clearing.

Where there had once been lush grass there was nothing but salted soil. There were no trees, only a forest of stumps that peppered a great dirt slope, leading up to the walls of the castle. With wide eyes and a pounding heart Merlin looked from left to right – it was the same all along the wall, and with no idea _why _this had happened, the young man could scarcely believe what he was seeing.

There was movement along the rampart and Merlin instinctively moved back into the cover of the trees, not certain that it was safe to be seen. It was a sentry, he thought, but the uniform was too dark to be Pendragon colours. Was it black, with something red...?

_Oh, no_.

Those were Morgana's colours. Mordred had attacked him – was this another attempt to claim the throne? _No_, he corrected, _not attempt. Success. _But when had she had the chance to do any of this? It would have required no less than a small army and now that Cenred was out of the picture, he'd thought that Morgana did not have such allies to call on. He must have missed something.

Whatever had happened, he needed to get in there. Tracking back through the trees, Merlin knew he would require a more subtle way of entering the city. It would be dangerous, but he could not afford to let fear overrule what had to be done.

For Arthur – for Albion, he would fix this.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


	2. Chapter 2

**All That You Need**

**Ch. 2**

**X X X**

Just as Merlin had expected, every gate into the city was heavily guarded. But with the right cloak (that he had, er, _borrowed _from a passing caravan), and the careful application of some foul smelling berries, no guard was willing to get close enough to look him over. Dismissing him quickly, they centered their attention on others who also sought entrance to the city, allowing the young man to discreetly ease his way through.

Once inside, Merlin took to the backstreets. So far from the core of the city, it would not afford him much of a chance to get a feel for the mood on the streets of Camelot, but it would bring him close to the castle without being seen by anyone loyal to the new regime. There were more subterranean methods of getting into the castle, but Merlin had no way of knowing which ones were blocked by Morgana. He could not risk getting halfway, and then being caught. At least if he went through the front door, he could escape fairly easily – and if he made it all the way inside, it would show Morgana how weak her defenses were.

He got lost, more than once, but eventually found himself exactly where he wanted to be: the highest street of the upper quarter, a stone's throw from the gate that lead into the castle grounds. As he came to a stop in the narrow space between two houses, Merlin took one look at the gate into the castle and seriously wondered how he was supposed to get past _that_.

'That' was at least a hundred peasants, standing in a long, thin line that snaked into the lower quarter. Guards walked the length of the line, looking contemptuously upon these people who shuffled forward, clutching little wooden bowls. At the very head of the line, flanked by four of Morgana's guards, a servant poured one cup of grain into each bowl as it was presented.

As he did so, his voice rang out. "In Morgana's name."

Merlin felt a shiver run down his spine as he listened to the mumbled response. "Long live the Queen."

The dull recitation never wavered, the peasants were never defiant, and no-one got any more than a single scoop. Strangely, they were only women - Merlin never saw a man or a child, and had to wonder how far such a small portion could go in a large family.

"In Morgana's name."

"Long live the Queen."

With just shy of twenty people to go, the grain ran out. Sounds of dismay rose from the peasants, but neither the guards nor the servant showed any signs of empathy. With the efficiency of a well practised routine, the servant packed up his tools and was escorted by the guards through the gate, leaving the unfed to watch in despair.

That was when it struck him – _this was_ _not new. _The barren land outside the walls, the guards at the gate, these people queuing for rations... None of this had simply happened overnight.

In that moment Merlin desperately wanted to save them, to provide them with the food they needed by whatever means necessary, but he had learnt a long time ago that an easy fix was not always the best one. If he could restore the balance, the rest would fall into place.

He was forced to wonder, yet again, how – and more importantly, _when –_ this could have happened. Where was Arthur, in all of this?

The handful of remaining peasants had finally begun to disperse in twos and threes when trumpets sounded from within the castle grounds. Merlin recognised it as a summons to the courtyard and turned his feet accordingly, grasping the opportunity for what it was. But as he walked, ill ease seeped into the pit of his stomach with the recollection that the very first time he'd heard that fanfare, it was for an execution.

In a moment of rare wisdom Merlin allowed that discomfiture to sit plainly on his face. Hiding it would only make him stand out, for everywhere he looked, there was the same expression of dread that he felt so keenly.

Curiously the courtyard looked much the same as it always had, though admittedly Merlin couldn't see much of it with so many people around. Men, women and children amassed in the centre of the courtyard, forming a loose ring around the wooden platform platform there. Merlin craned his neck to try and get a better look, but almost lost his hood in the process. He snatched at the hem to keep it in place, only to walk shoulder first into a shorter man. Similarly hooded, the peasant stumbled to the side with an indignant exclamation.

Merlin mumbled a quick apology and ducked his head, refusing eye contact. Anxious to avoid detection in the heart of enemy territory, Merlin did not look to see whom he had collided with as he swiftly sought to put as many people between them as possible. He did not see the barely concealed sword at the man's side, or the dark skin of his face and hands.

He did not see the look of shock on Elyan's face – or the hand that tried to grab him, and failed.

As subtly as he could, Merlin manoeuvred through the crowd to the far side of the platform, which he knew now was to be used in an execution. From this position he could also see the grand balcony that overlooked the courtyard, and the small group of nobles who clustered there.

Flanked on either side by uniformed guards and the sinister flags of her own shield, Morgana stood near to the centre of the balcony, straight-backed and regal. With Camelot's crown resting upon her dark hair, her haughty composure was not so different to Uther's, in his day.

Merlin could not see any trace of Morgause, which did little to put him at ease. To Morgana's left, dressed in the dark leather of a wealthy and skilled mercenary, a young man stood watching the people with a frown. Although Merlin did not recognise him, there was something familiar about his face – but he was also too far away for the warlock to be sure of anything. Behind them, so far back they looked almost as if they were pressed against the wall, a row of noblemen and women stood in audience. Courtiers, or allied sorcerers, Merlin wasn't sure.

At an unseen signal, the drums began. The crowd rippled with motion as everyone went completely silent, heads turning to the small archway that lead to the dungeons. The air was thick with fear and Merlin, overwhelmed by the crowd's mood, stood so still he could almost feel his own heartbeat.

The jingle of chainmail announced the arrival of the prisoner long before they came into sight. Merlin watched intently, heart swollen with dread, as an entourage of at least six heavily armed guards emerged from the dungeons, the former Crown Prince Arthur with them.

At such a sight, ripple of dismay ran through the crowd.

Arthur, to his credit, walked in long and even strides, his head high and shoulders straight, unafraid of what was about to happen. Merlin wanted to walk over and shake him – there was _no_ _honour_ in dying this way, whatever the Prince might think.

"This man," Morgana began, as Arthur was escorted up and onto the platform, "Arthur Pendragon, is an _enemy_ of Camelot. He would see the laws of his father, Uther Pendragon, returned, and the murder of every magical man, woman or child, for the crime of being born the way they are."

Merlin was only half listening, his eyes on Arthur. He needed to know what had happened to bring the world to this, but he had no reason to trust anything Morgana said.

"He would purge this land of sorcery," she continued, "and leave you vulnerable to the Dorocha! I offer you food, shelter and _protection_ against such forces of evil, when Arthur would leave you to fend for yourselves! For years, we have lived in fear that this man would destroy the safety I give you, and today that fear will end."

Her firey speech complete, Morgana slowly lifted a hand into the air. With adrenaline and panic coursing through his system, Merlin knew that if he did not do something now, there would be no second chance.

But he needed _time_.

Drawing in a breath, Merlin shouted with all that he had. "Long live the King!" Whether it was Uther or Arthur, Merlin was no longer sure, but it didn't matter. He would take either of them, over Queen Morgana.

Morgana turned stiff, looking to the crowd sharply and, he thought, not without a twinge of fear. Merlin dared her to find him, calling out again. "Long live the King!"

Those near to him, realising that he was the source of such vocal insubordination, backed away with fear. Merlin did not fault them for it, though he could have used their support.

"_Long live the King!"_

Merlin turned, hearing it come from behind him. He grinned broadly, no longer alone in his protest. There were too many people for him to make it out – but then, to the left – "_Long live the King_!"

"Silence!" Morgana commanded, but the damage was done. The crowd was restless, trying to separate itself from those who were causing trouble. The guards who stood on the platform with Arthur were tense, the executioner amused. Above them all, the Queen was quickly losing control of the whole affair. Merlin couldn't help the slight smirk – this was precisely the kind of thing he needed to unleash proper chaos. He knew exactly what to do next.

"_O Drakon_!" Throwing his hood back and looking to the sky, he let the ancient magic of the Dragonlords consume him. The world faded into mere background noise as Merlin spoke in the Dragon's tongue of instinct and power; demanded that Kilgharrah answer his summons, and aid him in the name of Albion.

As the last word left him, the world came rushing back and Merlin found himself bereft of people on all sides. The people of Camelot had hurried to distance themselves even faster than before and although the sheer mass of people would only allow them to go so far, there was a clear ring of space around him. Embracing reckless fury, Merlin did not care – if it made him a target, so be it. They would never actually catch him.

"Seize him!" the command rang out across the courtyard, Morgana's right hand man moving to the edge of the balcony. With the exception of those around Arthur, every guard began to hurry towards him.

_On second thoughts... _

**X X X**

**To be continued. **

**Notes: **I wasn't going to end the chapter here, but I like my chapters to be around or under the 2k mark, so it was fitting. Please also note that for some reason, the conversion process I use for turning stories into an uploadable format can sometimes eat random words. If you see a paragraph end where it oughtn't, or a sentence that seems to be missing a few words, please let me know. Such absence doesn't show up until the chapter is actually posted, so it's not something I can guard against particularly easily.

**Beta-editing: **For those of you who are seeking such a thing, I'm happy to do some beta-ing for you. A word of warning, I'm nice but I am _very_ thorough. If you are interested, feel free to send me a message with details about your story/plot, the length, genre and other bits like that. You'll need an account, of course.

That's all from me – see you soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**All That You Need**

**Ch. 3**

**X X X**

From left to right, there were guards running for him. Armed as they were, Merlin knew that he didn't have much of a chance against them. His magic hummed, and his fingertips tingled with the temptation to smite them in one easy blow. But he could not – would not – attack someone with magic unless he had to. There was a fine line between attacking someone and dropping a tree branch on them, but he'd gotten better at making concessions over the years. Sometimes, drastic measures were necessary. This was not one of those times.

_Not yet,_ he amended.

Honing in on the guards to the left, Merlin lifted a hand towards them. With a flash of gold eyes and a quick jerk of the fingers, the front runner lost hold of his pike mid-stride. It clattered to the ground and lacking any kind of fine reflex, the man stumbled, lost his balance, and fell flat. Having never expected the obstruction, two more guards went straight into him. They immediately tried to right themselves, and those who had not fallen had a great deal of trouble when they tried to get past. Merlin let them sort themselves out, hazarding a look to the guards on the right.

_Too close. Skip to the next stage of the plan._

Ducking his head a little and bracing his shoulders, Merlin ran for the first gap in the crowd that he could see. Aiming for Arthur, Merlin wove his way through the bodies as nimbly as he could – which, as it happened, was rather clumsily. Fortunately, squeezing his way past spectators was not hard – they were all too keen to get as much out of the way as possible.

Around the point that Merlin reached the halfway mark, Arthur spontaneously took things into his own hands. Whether he had recovered from surprise, or simply realised that this was an opportunity to escape, Merlin would never really know. Whatever the reason, it was not long before he had elbowed two guards in the face, stolen someone's sword, felled a man, and stood ready to do plenty more damage. With his hands shackled as they were, Arthur was forced to hold the sword at something of a comical angle, but only fools would underestimate him.

And then Merlin heard it – the distant groan of a great monster.

The keening wail rolled through the courtyard from above, and the mayhem Merlin had caused evaporated in an instant. He was perhaps the only one who did not go stiff with fear, turn his face to the sky, and pray that it had just been the wind. As the sound died, overtures of genuine panic began to flow into the courtyard and the still bodies that stood there. Aware that he had less than a minute, Merlin pushed his way forward until he broke into the free space between people and platform. A guard there saw him immediately, but well versed in the art of eluding capture, Merlin dodged to the side. He did not have the skill to strike the man in any damaging way, save what he could achieve with magic, but the young man was reluctant to use it in a place where there was a much greater chance that Arthur would see.

It was at that moment that of all things, a half eaten apple sailed through the air in a neat arch. It hit the guard square on the side of the face, causing him to start and whip around in fury. That moment of distraction was all that Merlin needed to resume his rescue mission. In three long strides he had reached the steps and cleared them, arriving on the platform in a breathless rush. "Arthur!"

Arthur dropped his last (now unconscious) opponent to the floor, turned to look, and stopped in his tracks. "Merlin! Where the _hell _have you been?"

Before Merlin could manage a half-baked excuse, a terrified shout carried across the crowd. "_DRAGON_!"

The world erupted.

While peasants scattered in every conceivable direction, Arthur whirled around, bloodied sword at the ready even though his hands were still restricted in their movement. Merlin looked to the sky long enough to pick out the dark shape cutting towards them, great wings silhouetted against the clouds in a way that made Kilgharrah unmistakeable. The sight made his heart want to sing, but Merlin knew there was not nearly enough time for that. If Morgana truly did have allied sorcerers with her, he needed to get Arthur out of the castle before Kilgharrah was forced into combat with them.

With this in mind he returned to the moment at hand. After a quick stop at a fallen guard's belt to collect the keys he would need, Merlin approached the regent, and clapped both hands on his shoulders from behind. Arthur flinched, but Merlin steamrolled over it with a cheery, "Time to go!"

Then he gave Arthur a good shove off the edge of the platform.

For a moment, the Knight was in freefall, legs kicking out at the empty space, hands desperately angling his sword away from potential self-injury. He did not land particularly gracefully, but at least it was upright. Merlin would have done a _lot_ of things to see the look on Arthur's face at that moment.

But there was no time for that, either. With a clean leap of his own, Merlin followed briskly, plunging them both into the chaos of the crowd. With the threat of dragon attack imminent, peasants were scattering in every direction. Cries of fear accompanied their half-crouched running, many of them fleeing into the nearest castle doorway. Few headed for the town – wood was not as safe as stone. Merlin risked a glance to the balcony and found that while Morgana's male companion was pointing and shouting at them, Morgana herself had her eyes on the approaching menace.

And then all of a sudden Kilgharrah was _there_, soaring across the courtyard at such a low height that heavy wind ripped at them in his wake. Arthur immediately started forward, sword at the ready, but Merlin grabbed his arm. "Believe me, Sire," he said, "You're not needed."

"Merlin! That beast is a threat to -"

"Camelot and the people, I know, but really - he's not. We need to _go_."

Arthur yanked his arm from Merlin's hold, refusing to listen. "I'm not going to leave people behind who can't defend themselves!"

Damn him, why was Arthur always so stubborn about retreating?

Merlin placed himself in his friend's line of sight. "Arthur, this is the _only_ chance we have – do you want to get out of here or not?"

Their budding argument was derailed as Kilgharrah flew across the courtyard once more. Those who had not taken shelter turned in their places, watching with fear. Merlin strongly suspected that the great dragon was having a great deal of fun, spitting fire into the air above the noblemen and women, showing off his great size and speed. Of course, Kilgharrah would never admit to any such thing for he was far too dignified, but it brought a brief grin to Merlin's face all the same.

Morgana, on her part, held her ground with remarkable collection. With a one handed spell she shielded herself from the worst of the fire, watching Kilgharrah with a calculated expression.

"He's coming back," Arthur muttered, tracking the dragon's movements. "We need to get to higher ground."

Merlin was halfway through an overly dramatic gesture of frustration when an idea struck him. He looked to Arthur in a new light. "You're right, Sire," he said, "We do need to get to higher ground." Here he grinned, spun on his heel, and took off in a line towards one of the keep's side entrances. With so many in the courtyard deeply preoccupied with their own welfare, his path had far fewer obstructions than before. Realising he was about to be left behind, Arthur hurried to follow.

Neither of them noticed that Morgana had abandoned her post.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**

**X X X**

**Notes:**

Like always, this isn't really where I was going to end the chapter/scene but I think it works better, than what I planned. Shorter chapters are easier to hammer out than longer ones, anyway.

Who do you think threw that apple...?  
See you soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**All That You Need**

**Ch. 4**

**X X X**

They were somewhere on the Castle's first floor when Merlin took a hard left into one of the wall recesses, where a thick door filled one wall and a grand tapestry hung from floor to ceiling on another. As Arthur appeared, hot on his heels, Merlin grabbed an arm and pulled the other man in. There was some mild protest on the matter but Merlin ignored him, sorting through the keys he'd lifted from the guard. Finding one that seemed to be made of the same metal as the shackles, he grabbed Arthur's wrists – mindful of the sword and again, ignoring the complaint – and to his relief, a sharp _click_ denoted the release of the lock.

The shackles were dropped to the floor and Arthur, rubbing his wrists lightly, nodded his thanks in that brief, tense way that came when his mind was preoccupied. They were still fairly close to the courtyard, and Kilgharrah's roars and the guard's attempt to defend rang through the stone corridor in a distorted echo. Certain that it was the source of Arthur's distraction, Merlin sought to give him focus.

"We need to keep moving," he said in low tones. They were lucky enough to have not been followed from outside; he did not want to draw attention to them now.

Arthur chanced a look in both directions down the hall, then gave another one of those short nods. Reaching past Merlin he gathered the edge of the tapestry and peeled it back to reveal a slightly crooked but well hidden archway. Beyond it, Merlin could just see the start of what promised to be a long and steep staircase, feeding into what was no doubt going to be a dusty, cobweb filled passage.

"Great..." he murmured, and ignoring the way that Arthur rolled his eyes as he went past, followed the Knight through. He let the tapestry fall back into place and immediately regretted the fact they didn't have a torch - it was pitch black in there.

"Stay close, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice amplified by the tight surroundings.

"Not too close," Merlin replied, his cheek belied by the cautious way he set his hand to the wall. He had never thought of himself as fearful of small spaces, but this was an experience he could have done without.

As they trekked upwards, the clamour of outside faded to the faintest background noise. Merlin judged that they were ensconced in the castle's very walls – and silently, he begged Kilgharrah to do anything but slam into it. He could do a lot of things, but he couldn't protect Arthur from _that_.

Somewhere around the fiftieth step, Arthur's voice floated back to him. "Merlin."

"Yes, Sire?"

"We need to talk."

_He's seen Kilgharrah_. Oh, this wasn't going to be good. Scrambling for a way to evade the conversation until he could conjure up a plausible answer that wouldn't end with his head on the block, Merlin drew on his best cheek. "We are talking," he said, and would've grinned if he thought Arthur would see it.

The sound of Arthur's footsteps came to an abrupt halt. With no idea how far apart they were, Merlin checked himself before he collided with the Royal Ass.

"I don't know where you've been, and you may be the most incompetent servant I ever had, but... we need every man we can get," Arthur said, "It's good to see you."

Staring at the black space between them, Merlin wasn't sure what to make of the tone of his voice – there was a fatalism he did not like. Realising it was his turn to say something, the warlock blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "...is that it?" he asked, somewhere between the impertinent facade and being genuinely confused. Were they not going to discuss the Dragon thing?

"Shut up, Merlin." _Apparently not._

Then they were walking again, and Merlin breathed a private sigh of relief. He had a little longer.

After that the pair moved in near silence save the rhythm of their boots, which might have bothered Merlin if he hadn't needed that time to try and sort through the things he had seen and learnt since arriving in the city that morning. The people were hungry. _Starving,_ really. He had a feeling the farms were doing poorly, or maybe Camelot had lost them? Morgana was in power, Arthur the outlaw, and Merlin's stomach twisted with the thought of what might have happened to Uther.

All the while, a disturbing thought ticked over in the corner of his mind – he'd been _gone_. Camelot – Arthur – had needed him and he hadn't been there. The true Pendragon reign had fallen, replaced by a usurper, and Albion was a more distant dream than ever. He needed to know what Mordred had done.

Then there was the part where Morgana had mentioned Dorocha – but what were they? He'd have to ask –

"Gaius!" Merlin exclaimed, and stopped mid-step in horror. He hadn't thought to ask, he hadn't even made the assumption that his mentor would be alright … he hadn't even _remembered_ Gaius until now. He'd been so concerned about _Arthur_, a man who could defend himself easily against almost any foe, when it was Gaius who really needed his help.

He heard Arthur stop as well. "What?"

"Gaius – is he alright?"

Desperate for information, the moment between his question and Arthur's reply seemed inordinately long. Just as Merlin started to feel he ought to ask again, he got his answer.

"Gaius is fine, Merlin, he's a clever man. Come on."

The tension that had locked itself in his chest disappeared in a heartbeat, and Merlin felt himself able to breathe again even if it felt like his heart was going a mile a minute. He said nothing to acknowledge Arthur outright, if only because he didn't trust himself to say something coherent.

They marched on. It was around what felt like the hundredth step and in the middle of a fierce ache in his thigh muscles that Arthur broke the quiet. "We're almost there," he said.

"How do you know?" Merlin asked, slowing his pace in case Arthur had done so already.

"I know, Merlin."

Merlin rolled his eyes but then, rather suddenly and really rather rudely, white light flooded the space, blinding him. He tried to shield his eyes, but Arthur to grabbed at his arm and unceremoniously dragged him forward, out of the secret passage and into the open.

Looking about blearily, it took Merlin a minute or so for his vision to clear. When it did, he looked back at the wall they had emerged from, around at the room they were in, and became more than a little confused. "There's no library on the top floor of the castle..." he said.

He had a dim memory as finding the room to be no more than a dusty room of empty bookshelves... clearly, one had been there to hide the end of the passage and the others were there to make it less obvious. Now, the shelves were laden with rows and rows of books, the occasional desk squeezed in where it could fit. There was a door in the north wall and windows to the east and west, but narrow ones – it was here that Merlin realised that they were in the top of the Keep's southern tower. It had never been used for much of anything when Uther was King, though the position meant it was ideal for archers to defend against enemies in the Upper Quarter. He was sure that it had been designed with that in mind, even if the city was known for being impregnable.

_Well, it was._ Things changed when traitors got involved.

"Morgana must have decided to expand her collection," Arthur said cynically, crossing over to one of the desks. He flipped the cover of a discarded tome with his free hand, as if to make sure it was really just a book, and Merlin watched a grim expression form on the regent's face. He took a closer look at the shelves and felt a little foolish when he realised that all of them were of a magical nature. Of course they were – the Queen was a witch.

More than ever, Merlin felt incredibly self-aware about his half-way position: warlock servant of the King who did not condone the use of magic, even though (or rather, _because_) he was born of it. Whose enemies tried, over and over again, to obliterate him using those very methods; whose first and closest friend had been corrupted by forces so much more powerful than her. The very real fear of being discovered, exposed, right there in the middle of the room clawed at the back of his thoughts, until he pushed them away and turned for the door. There was still work to do.

"We should go," Merlin said, keen to get out of there before he gave himself away out of sheer panic.

Arthur cast one more look around the room and then followed him, out the door and onto the very top of the Keep. They had barely taken two steps when the sound of battle rushed back to them, punctuated by Kilgharrah's roar as he swooped dangerously low over the castle. He and Arthur ducked reflexively, rising only after the wind had blown across them.

Straightening, Merlin had a quip on the tip of his tongue until the unexpected sound of metal on metal from the ground below caught his attention. Drawn to the edge of the wall and the view of the courtyard there, Merlin peered at the fighting group of men and soldiers down there. A dozen or so guards were strewn across the ground, unconscious or dead, whilst half a handful of men in peasant gear faced off another dozen. They were fighting well and from what Merlin could tell, had the upper hand. He wasn't surprised – Morgana would have been hard pressed to replace Camelot's forces with anything of quality.

A moment later, his eyes went wide with recognition. Was that – "_Gwaine_?" And – Lancelot, Elyan? Had they come to rescue Arthur? He wished he'd known that earlier.

Arthur appeared next to him, copying Merlin's stance as he took a good look at the chaos below. Anything he might have said was derailed when he spotted the dragon, who had wheeled about and was coming in for a fresh attack. He grabbed Merlin's arm. "Stay back," he said, sword raised to the offensive.

Merlin didn't move. His attention now on Kilgharrah, he watched the great beast sweep across the sky towards them. He spared a glance to Arthur. "For what it's worth, I'm _really_ sorry."

Arthur snorted, never taking his eyes away from the target. "You picked a fine time to apologise, Merlin. Now get out of the way – don't make me tell you again."

It happened quickly. Arthur, moving back from the wall, adopted his best offensive stance, sword raised to take on the dragon even if he had no hope of truly defeating it. Kilgharrah swooped low, honing in on Arthur, only to pull back at the last moment. Feet first, it looked almost as though he was going to land – and then, with a masterful grab of his taloned feet, Arthur was lifted from the ground with a terribly undignified yelp. Secure in Kilgharrah's hold – though undoubtedly not feeling that way – Arthur struggled so much that his sword dropped from his grip and clattered to the stone at Merlin's feet.

Kilgharrah seemed intent on ignoring all of this and, with a sound that Merlin _knew_ to be a laugh, the great dragon took off into the sky, taking Arthur with him.

Merlin watched them go with a grin on his face, his heart soaring with satisfaction.

A door in the opposite tower was flung open and Morgana's male companion strode forth, flanked by guards.

Unafraid as long as the euphoria was pulsing through him, Merlin regarded the man and his entourage with contempt. "You're too late," he said. There was nothing they could to do get Arthur back.

_Emrys. You were not supposed to return. _

The cold touch of shock took over Merlin's thoughts. It was Mordred.

**X X X**

**To be continued.**


End file.
